#SummerWritingSanctuary: Day 1

Beth Kempton, author of such wonderful titles such as Kokoro and Freedom Seeker, is hosting a free Summer Writing Sanctuary this week: this is my way of keeping myself on track ...

Sharing my response to Day 1’s invitation, raw and unedited, seemed a great way to begin sharing my creative meanderings and musings here on this wonderful community-spirited platform.

I’ve been sitting on the splintered fence for far too long, waiting for the perfect moment to craft my perfect Substack. Yet I know, just as you know, that there is no such thing as ‘perfect’, in any way, shape or form.

To be honest, I don’t even - at this moment in time - know what I will be sharing with you on CreaTEAvity Studio’s Substack. But this is my current form of creative respite after 4 months of an unexpected hiatus due to breast cancer surgery, so I am delighted you have joined me … welcome, welcome, welcome!

I looked for Summer ...

I looked for Summer and found it under the cool canopy of tall spindly fir trees encircling a dusty clearing in Abbot's Wood, sighing as the gentle breeze fanned up from the coast and led them to dance. Darkest green tops looming overhead, casting welcome cool shadows on the ground as the golden sun rays slowly made its way westward. 

I lay quietly - as quietly as a seven year old bundle of energy can do - on the 70's orange swirly nylon fabric-coated sunlounger, trying hard not to move an inch for fear of the sunlounger folding up and trapping me in it. My grandpa had gone off to the car, loading up the empty picnic basket. I could hear the sharp sound of plastic coolbox being thrust against the internal well of Baby's boot, as Grandpa Sandy ferreted around for the wide Thermos flask full of piping-hot tea.

Each degree of the sun's descent extended the shadows cast and my Granna instinctively moved slightly on her sunlounger, drawing the picnic blanket up a little around her waist as the cool summer breeze fanned across our picnic spot.

Halycon days. Memories of sweet, sweet moments in childhood. 

Unappreciated at such a tender age, yet oh so precious now. Feelings of being safe, loved, even as I lay there, afraid to move in case I was gobbled up again by the sunlounger devil springs. 

A tummy full of cold chicken pie. Homemade shortcrust pastry, deliciously flaky and light. Chicken pie filling full of moist chicken breast, wrapped in a silken white sauce with a hint of nutmet and bay leaf. Fresh tomatoes that smelled and tasted like real sun-kissed tomatoes. Freshly-made golden syrup flapjacks waiting to be served alongside our primary-colour tall plastic mugs of hot tea. All prepared by my Granna and I earlier that morning before the sun started to heat up in earnest.

And then my ears tell me they can hear the sound of children playing and calling to each other in the woods, as they went adventuring together. Of my shyness, too afraid to ask if I could explore with them. Of folding, unfolding, folding, unfolding the yellow and white checked seersucker napkin on my lap, as I tried to pluck up the courage to speak to strangers. Of my Granna waking up, noticing my anxious foldings, and bringing out the travel dominos set to play with me.

Seersucker napkins. Home sweet home. Safe. Lazy summer days picnicking with my wonderful grandparents. 

I looked for Summer and found it under the cool canopy of tall spindly fir trees encircling a dusty clearing in Abbot's Wood, sighing as the gentle breeze fanned up from the coast and led them to dance. Darkest green tops looming overhead, casting welcome cool shadows on the ground as the golden sun rays slowly made its way westward. 

*Baby was the nickname of my Granna Helen's beautiful dark green Morris Minor. She only came out of the garage on special occasions, and a summer picnic during school holidays was a veritable treat indeed!

• If you’d like to take part in Beth’s Summer Writing Sanctuary, it’s not too late to join: Summer Writing Sanctuary

• My favourite book of Beth’s is Kokoro: Japanese wisdom for a life well lived

Image credit: photo by Spencer Selover